


Covered My Heart In Kisses

by BriannaNicole



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: AU- no zombies, Angst, Caring!Rick, Comfort, Explicit Murder, Falling In Love, First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Non Graphic Smutt, Panic, Past Child Abuse, Rickyl Eventually, Self Harm, cross dressing, dark tones, fist kiss, mature language, thumb sucking, top!rick, virgin!Daryl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-07 22:34:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6827914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BriannaNicole/pseuds/BriannaNicole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl is convinced that he's ugly. Will he be convinced that he's not??</p>
            </blockquote>





	Covered My Heart In Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> **WARNING** This story contains self harm and past childhood abuse. If those are sensitive subjects for you PLEASE do not read!
> 
> For those of you who wish to continue, please enjoy. 
> 
> Based off Sia - Dressed In Black :: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1L_6hLmRSQE
> 
> Unbeta'd expect mistakes.

This is not suicide. For Daryl suicide is not an option, suffering is the only thing that sets his mind at ease. The pain gives him something to focus on, something to grasp. In pain he can face anything, can stand toe to toe with Satan himself if need be. As long as a part of him is drenched in blood, as long as there is that bitter taste on his tongue he can speak whatever truth he needs to. 

He's never cared about beauty, it's not who he is. His clothes cover every ugly scar he's etched on his pale skin. He's never cared about being attractive, how can he with a thick scar stretching from the corner of his eye down to his chin. It's a lighter red now but still noticeable, still ugly. That night was quite something, he all but umaned himself. He figured he'd save that for another day, another fit of horror. 

He doesn't know what's wrong with him, hasn't cared to really spend time pondering why and how. He chalks it up to the agony of his childhood. His mother would paint bright red lipstick on his lips, she'd fit lacy panties around his hips, forcing him to be the daughter she never had but always wanted. He wore the prettiest dresses and exspensive shoes that were too small and hurt his feet. His pig tails were the cutest anyone would ever see, she made sure her rough son was the baby girl she'd never had. It didn't matter to her what gender he'd been born with, when she looked at him she saw a girl, a model to be dressed up. The makeup drawn on his face was a masterpiece, his eyebrows plucked, his mole colored in. When he hit puberty she'd wax his chin and cheeks and apply blush to turn his pale white skin in to a glaring cherry red. He learned early on not to protest, the first couple times he did she smacked him around. She wounded his body. Daryl has always been confused about something, about who he was meant to be. 

He begged her to let him play sports, she slapped him. He begged her to let him go to school like other kids, she ignored him. He had a big crush on a girl named Carol Peletier, he was beaten within an inch of his life. _"Girls don't date other girls!"_ she spit, her voice pure acid and evil. She carved _SINNER_ under his collar bone that night, he didn't even have to strength to struggle. He just bled, bleeding was all he knew to do. 

He was 20 years old when he finally killed her. He took a knife and slit her open sternum to navel like you would game in the woods. One hundred times he punished her with the kitchen knife, one hundred times she made up for the misery she had put him through. By the time he finished his pink dress was covered in gore. 

The first thing he did was snatch the dress from his battered body, he ripped the hair bands from his head so hard it hurt his scalp. He scrubbed the offending makeup from his face and cut his name in his wrist. His name is not Darleena it's **Daryl**.

He burned down that wretched house, his ma spent so much money on his dresses she could barely pay to keep the roof over their heads. The only thing he kept was a raggedy teddy bear he stole from the store. No one would know, they lived out in a field basically. The woods were far enough away that the trees wouldn't catch fire but she would. Mother never liked nosy people, she was always afraid of them getting close enough to her daughter to see she was actually a mangled boy. He stood outside and watched it crumble under fire and revenge. Tucking his teddy under his arm, his thumb in his mouth he watched his mother go up in smoke. He enjoyed the scene, had enjoyed her screams and threats as he ruined her. He knew to make it look like an accident, to make it seem like he'd been burned with her. Satisfied with his handiwork he turned on his heel and left, never to look back. 

That was 19 years ago, he's been busy fucking himself up ever since. Doing what he wants to _his_ body, cutting and dressing it how _he_ pleases. There's no one around now to guide his path. He wears dark sleeveless shirt now, torn _men's_ jeans and a biker's cut with angel wings stitched on the back. He ain't no angel, hell he's a murderer but it holds meaning to him he has yet to understand. Maybe he likes the thought of something looking out for him despite the shit he's been through and has done. He'll figure it out under the fresh pain of his blade another day. 

He has grown his hair out, no longer combing it, barely washing it. It's wispy and greasy but he likes it, it's _his_ hair now. There's no mother around grooming and parting it into tight hairstyles anymore. He's his own kind of ugly now, an ugly he can control and handle.

Daryl started drinking and found he liked the effect of liquor and whiskey. The way it would burn going down and warm him like nothing so far has been able to do and it was wonderful. He liked peace in a bottle, silence in every drop he guzzled. He likes cigarettes as well, they too have a burn that hits his lungs and saturates his heart. He loves that he can kill himself from the inside, like fisting his own heart in his hand and squeezing the life from it with every puff of smoke he blows through his lips. 

On accident he found out he likes masturbating too, he was never taught anything about sex. His ma said sex before marriage was bad but never said a word about his father or whether they were married or not when they made him. He doesn't know how it really works but his first orgasm was frightening in the way it built up and exploded. He was fascinated with how his pee pee could stand up on its own like that, at how good it felt when he touched it for the first time. He set an unforgiving pace and didn't stop until his pleasure was eating its way out of him and spurting white from the little hole. Even then he didn't stop until he was too sensitive to stand it and had cum several times. He tasted the white stuff out of curiosity, it was salty and tart. Sticky. He liked it, certainly liked the pain that came with it too. So now whenever he does it he scoops up the white goo on his thumb and sucks on it. He goes to sleep this way most nights, curled up in his own mess. 

He resents his mother for teaching him next to nothing about how the world works, people do nothing but stare at him like he's some kind of freak in human skin. He knows they're staring at his face, they wonder why his name is carved into his wrist. They wonder why he dresses the way he does. Still he finds himself a small job cleaning weapons, he gets just enough money to pay for the little one bedroom apartment with no AC or heat. He doesn't mind though, he didn't have that when he was growing up, he just had fear and a bitch mother. He finds himself in a bar most evenings, sitting in a dark corner to conceal his appearance. 

A woman comes up to him, Rosita is her name. She's pretty, dark hair falling down to her shoulders. Her slim frame poured into a tight red dress that comes above her knees. She's got her hands on her hips, posing in front of him expectantly. Rosita tried small talk but when he does nothing but look through her she begins to yell at him. She calls him a _freak no dick motherfucker_ , her voice sounding so much like his ma's. Daryl does nothing but curl in on himself, wishing she'd just go away and stop attracting attention to him.

He's on the verge of snapping when a true angel shows up beside her. Daryl looks up and feels his clouds part into a whole new world, one of awe and sparks of...something. The man is...everything. He's the pinnacle of attractiveness. His waves have hints of grey here and there, his face freshly shaven and smooth. His body is lean but build for strength, the strength to hold him down and...

He speaks to Rosita but Daryl can't hear a thing, his entire focus on this man's face. How he guides her away from him and strolls back to sit at his table in front of him, he's the essence of confidence. Rick's face is unblemished and he's suddenly reminded of his own, how disgusting the scar disfiguring him must look. He bows his head and sips from his drink, beginning to tremble, already uncomfortable in his own skin. 

"She had no right to be rude to you like that. My name's Rick, what's yours?"

Rick's voice is soft and is already luring him into a false sense of security. He doesn't know what to say to this beautiful creature sitting in the darkness with him. He wants to get up and leave or tell the man to go away, he doesn't belong in the shadows with him. He deserves light, magic. He forces his voice to work anyway,

"Daryl."

Rick smiles and it's the best thing he's ever experienced in his life. Tears spring into his eyes as he looks away from that wonderful sight, this isn't happening. Not to him. Rick can't be smiling at him like that. What did he do to warrant such things?

"It's nice to meet you, Daryl."

From that moment on they're glued to each other almost night and day. Over the course of the next year Rick becomes Daryl's life, he's always around. Daryl has never been happy for so long, Rick is always making him laugh. He's always making jokes and inviting him to places, not once has he asked about his face or stared. Daryl has yet to catch him side eyeing him, eventually he relaxes to the point of just about forgetting the scar is even there. In the 3rd year of their friendship Daryl finds himself staring in the mirror, even with their friendship he still harms himself. He still finds pleasure in that pain even though one day he wants to bare himself to Rick , he can't resist his darkness and really hasn't bothered to until his hatred and awful childhood make themselves clear. Standing naked he can clearly see every mark and lingering bruise he's left on himself. He bows his head ashamed, Rick will never want him. Even if he was interested, once he removed his clothes...

Rick is always touching him, always going out of his way to make sure he's okay, he hasn't dated anyone the whole time Daryl has known him. He even turned down a lady named Michonne. Daryl thought for sure he'd date her but he said he was waiting on something perfect, the way Rick looked at him when he said it made his skin break out in goosebumps. Something in Daryl just _knew_ Rick meant he was waiting on him so when he looks in the mirror and is faced with his own ugliness for the first time he doesn't like the pain he's caused himself. He's ashamed of everything he put himself through, ashamed of every cigarette burn he pressed to his skin. Every line he drew across his heart.

Daryl breaks down in tears, he shoves his thumb in his mouth and sucks at it in earnest. He's shaking, his blood feels like tidal waves in his veins. Grabbing for his flip phone he's dialing Rick's number before he can think about it, he needs that soft voice and touch. His voice is nothing but panic and before he can hang up Rick is using his key to get in. Rick gathers him carefully in his arms and rocks him on his bathroom floor. Daryl curls up and cries openly around his thumb. 

"What is it Daryl, what's wrong?"

There is nothing but concern in his question.

"So much wrong done to me, so much wrong I've done. M' so...ugly and bad! I like you but I'm ugly and did bad things...did bad things..."

He repeats this over and over just in case Rick doesn't understand him around his sobs, his thumb is covered in spit, there are tears running from his face. Daryl's a mess and he can't help it. 

"It's okay...what you did can't be that bad Daryl. Tell me what's wrong."

Rick runs his hand along the injured side of Daryl's face soothing him when he doesn't speak immediately. Daryl shakes his head and continues to cry and murmur the same things. 

"Did bad things...am ugly...did bad things...you'll hate me...so ugly."

"Daryl, nothing can make me hate you, just tell me what happened. What did you do that was bad?"

Rick is consistent in his need to understand, Daryl figures if there's anyone who could handle his dark past it's his friend. Rick is the only one who held any promise of understanding so he sat up and removes his thumb from his mouth and tells his story the best he knows how with fear clamming up his throat. 

Rick listens frowning here and there, he doesn't butt in or ask questions just...listens. Daryl has never had any listen to him before and even if Rick gets up and leaves he'll always treasure this moment. He stumbles through how he murdered his mother but tells the truth like it was just yesterday that her blood splashed his face with every stab. When he finishes there's a silence between them so tense and heavy it settles cold like snow. Suddenly there are arms around him pulling him close, he just about jumps out of his skin. Rick holds fast and soothes his new sobs. 

"You have nothing to be sorry for, you did what you had to do to escape her. She got what she deserved."

"Yea...?" 

Daryl stares at him with a childlike trust.

"Mhm and you know what? _I'm proud of you_."

Daryl breaks down and is so grateful for those words, even if they turn out to be untrue. That thought sends panic through him, what if Rick really does leave? He can't be alone now.

Oh god...

A kiss halts his breathing, he jerks as his eyes widen. Rick's lips on his are so sweet and loving, soft on his like fluffy blankets. He can't believe Rick has done such a thing but he holds on tight to him anyway. His arms cling around his neck as he arches against him in a way he didn't think was possible. They kiss for a lifetime and it's as easier than taking another breath. Rick teaches him the art of giving life, smoothing over his clumsiness and replacing it with his own experience. He pulls away and Daryl follows his swollen lips with a needy whine.

"Come with me, I have something to show you. Only if you're ready."

Daryl nods and places his hand in Rick's letting him guide the way to his bedroom. He follows Rick like he's a God leading his sheep to greener pastures.

Rick makes love to Daryl for the first time that night, he lays claim to every inch of Daryl's skin. He doesn't let Daryl hide from him, keeping his shame and demons at bay. He swallows his every moan and sets Daryl's heart free. He has never felt this alive in his life and what amazes him is this isn't painful, there isn't a hint of hurt in this. It shocks him that he's not screaming out in agony, he's screaming out in _ecstasy_ , moaning and making noises he's never thought he was capable of. Rick moves inside of Daryl, teaches him the art of molding himself in the shape of another. He doesn't make fun of his inexperience, in fact he's happy he's the first man who has the pleasure of sharing this with him. 

"Want you to do it inside of me."

Rick eyes him, searching for his truth, "You sure?"

He nods and clamps down on the length piercing him. It's not long before they're finishing seconds apart and even that's not painful, it's glorious. Rick plants kisses all over Daryl's face making him giggle and whine as he pulls out. 

"Thank you..."

Rick rubs Daryl's release into his stomach and plops down beside him, pulling him close. Once Daryl in situated under his chin and wrapped around his waist he whispers, 

"You don't have to thank me, you're the one I've been waitng for." 

Daryl's smile lights up the darkness surrounding them, he snuggles as close as he can get.

"Your mother. She was wrong. It's you who's perfect and I'm gonna spend the rest of my life proving that to you."

"Mkay. Rick...?"

"Yea sweetheart?"

"I...I love you."

Daryl can sense Rick's answering smile, a kiss is pressed against his head. 

"I love you too, Daryl. My perfect one."


End file.
